


Flare Up

by WaeRose



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Has Panic Attacks, Cold Weather, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Rain, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, YES the coffee shop mentioned is a real place if you know then you Know, bro i really do not have much to say on this one it is just soft and cute., its a nice place they give you drinks at drinkable temperature, so remy works there, there's a smooch <3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26271685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaeRose/pseuds/WaeRose
Summary: Virgil's having a rough day, and he's not quite patient enough to wait for Remy to get off work.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Sleep | Remy Sanders
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	Flare Up

**Author's Note:**

> So maybe I like writing the little short ones sometimes,,, and also I've wanted to write Remy for a while now.  
> All my current Projects-with-a-capital-P are very long and emotional, so I just wanted to throw some fluff into the void before I go back to furiously chipping away at that Janus character study that's gonna take forever to finish...   
> -WJ

Virgil dragged his steps along the pavement, pulling his hair out of its spiked ponytail- if only to bring a sliver more insulation to his freezing cold face. He shoved his hood up onto his head, sinking back into the small comfort it provided him. His earrings bumped the side of his jaw occasionally, a touch of icy metal stinging his skin, but he couldn’t find the energy to remove them. 

The rain snapped and bit at Virgil’s cheeks, his nose, his hands- anywhere it could seem to reach and then some. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so frustrating if Virgil could just  _ breathe _ , but every time he opened his mouth to make an attempt at it the forceful winds swept away his air and left his lungs burning. Like maybe his chest was filled with snow, but it never melted.

But he liked it. Or, no, he needed it. Or something like that… 

Being outside in the late falls of New England  _ hurt _ , but it was the only thing that ever felt fresh in times like these. It was clean and clear, and it didn’t stifle Virgil, didn’t make him feel boxed-in like an animal. 

And it was quiet. Quiet except the rain, and the wind.

Virgil’s footsteps echoed through the street, each sound eventually carried away with the weather. The destination wasn’t much further now, but he almost wished it was, just to keep this sharpness that- for once- found its way into his addled mind. 

The shop was just over the hill, an oddly steep one for a downtown area. The sidewalk curved up in an incline, keeping the quant building just out of view as one approached, all except for its sign. Wooden, old, painted all in black with a delicately embellished logo. Virgil walked with slow strides, reading again and again the letters painted there as they grew more legible. 

_ Flight Coffee Co. _

To say Virgil knew the place well would be an understatement. Even if all the buildings around him set their lights dark, and the stars went out, and the moon turned its face away, Virgil would be able to see the words in their exact font. He would still see the shape of the hanging sign, swaying and knocking in the wind, and he’d see the wide windows set into the front of the store. And, he might even see the heavy door opening, revealing a tall, lanky young man stepping outside. A young man with dark skin, a thick tied-up poof of bleached-brown hair, and a pair of shades tucked into the chest pocket of his black leather jacket.

Virgil felt a smile creep out from his teeth. A weak, small smile. But a smile.

The punk stopped a few yards away from the coffeehouse, watching the employee bolt and lock the door for the night. He waited semi-patiently until the man turned, those blackish-brown irises meeting his green and grey ones. The man’s face twisted up in momentary confusion, turning then concern as he tucked his keys into a spare pocket.

“Virge? What are you doing here, baby?”

Virgil stuffed his hands- burned raw and red with the cold- into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Hey, Remy. I- um, I got a little impatient waiting for you to get off work, I guess.”

Remy’s expression melted into soft understanding, as he reached forward and brushed back Virgil’s bangs with a warm hand.

“Oh, honey,” he murmured, “You had one of those days?”

Virgil didn’t answer. He leaned into Remy silently, stretching up to press his face into the taller man’s shoulder. His jacket was well-worn and soft, still carrying the distinct smell of leather goods, but ingrained as well with the scent of coffee and clean dishes. Virgil burrowed even closer when he felt Remy’s arms loop around his waist, shielding him from the weather, comforting him. 

Virgil didn’t always like being touched after a day riddled with paranoia and anxiety, in fact oftentimes that only set him more on edge. Those were the days when he’d hole up in his room, watching short horror films on YouTube and texting frantically with his friends, either Andy or Logan most of the time (as both suffered from similar anxious disorders to him). 

But there were other days, days where he felt so desperately alone and tiny, when he just needed someone to be near him. And that someone was always Remy. 

“You want me to walk you home, handsome?”

Virgil grumbled at the nickname, and also at the prospect of letting his partner go, however briefly. Remy laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head through his hoodie. 

“...We probably should. It’s dangerous at night,” Virgil conceded. 

“Well,” Remy stepped back far enough to link his arm with Virgil’s, turning them in the direction of home. “We live in New England, so, not really.”

“Killers can live anywhere,” Virgil countered, matching Remy’s steps. “Don’t discriminate, R.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, alright. Good you got me to defend you, huh?”

Virgil raised his eyebrows, smirking incredulously. Remy kept a straight face for about five seconds before bursting into laughter. 

“Yeah- Yeah, okay,” he giggled, “You’re right, you’re right; I’m not nearly as scary as you, you big goth.”

“Damn right,” Virgil grinned, nudging Remy with his shoulders as they walked. 

It was a quiet trip on Virgil’s part, as he was content to just listen to Remy talk about his day. The barista always had a  _ lot  _ to say about his customers- most of it negative, all of it funny. Virgil’s steps were slow, unhurried, as he let the tension fall from his shoulders.

The cold still stung, but it wasn’t nearly as noticeable with the almost supernaturally warm body of Remy plastered against his side. Nothing was especially noticeable under those circumstances, really, aside from the high pitch of Remy’s voice and the secure feeling of his body  _ right there _ . It left no room in his brain for anything else, a rare kind of relief that Virgil could never get enough of.

This was always just what he needed. Virgil let his eyes fall closed, his eyelids heavy and burning from a long lack of sleep, and leaned his head back against his boyfriend’s shoulder. It was alright to do so; Remy knew the path, and would make sure he didn’t stumble or fall. 

It was a short time to their apartment complex; a tall, white, rectangle of a building sticking up from a disproportionately small parking lot. It was a little dingy, a little run-down, but Virgil would be lying if he said it didn’t feel like home.

He lifted his head, smiling tiredly. 

“Hey.”

Remy stopped short what he was ranting about, giving Virgil his attention.

“I love you,” Virgil muttered, half-against the side of his head. Remy (poorly) hid his momentary surprise with an eyeroll. 

“Duh- I’m a total score, Babe.”

“Remy.”

Remy groaned softly, hiding his face in his free hand. 

“Okay, fine- I love you too, you big sap.”

Virgil grinned. Before he could worry about which of their annoying neighbors would see them, or what the frosty weather was doing to them, or if the flickering fluorescent streetlights would fall on them- he jolted forward.

Remy made a startled sort of squeak when their lips connected, his eyes widening. But then he adjusted, and kissed back, and Virgil really _ did _ manage to forget about everything else. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you can't tell I'm very sentimental about new england weather. I love it here I love it here.   
> Maybe one day I'll learn how to write an ending. Maybe.   
> -WJ


End file.
